“WHAT? You paid for that fiasco?”
“In more ways than one.”
I sit in stunned silence for a while. We scrape the bottoms of our respective ice cream cups eventually, in thoughtful quiet.
“That’s all connected to the way Mom acted throughout this wedding?”
“She wanted the Wedding of the Year her mom promised her.”
“That’s...weird.”
“Yeah. I think it’s not so simple, though. Your mom has this need for status, but it comes from wanting to be accepted. Her mother made it damn near impossible for Marie to let me love her.”
My face is tipped down and I look up through a frown.
“She couldn’t believe she was worthy of everything I wanted to give her.”
“Love is so hard, even when it’s easy.”
“Like parenting.” Dad gives me a knowing smile. “Go light on her.”
“She expects an apology from me.”
He waves that away. “All she really wants is a hug and to know she didn’t ruin your relationship.”
I jolt.
“Why did you keep in touch with Grandma Celeste? We saw her every few years, so....”
“Your mother. Like I said, she couldn’t let go. Always needing that mother’s love she never had.”
“Ouch. Did she ever get it?”
“No. Celeste died and left everything—including all her personal effects—to a local charity.”
“Double ouch.”
“And left us with the funeral bill. Only this time, I knew how legally to get out from being responsible for that one.”
“Jesus!”
“I’m pretty sure he wasn’t the person who greeted Celeste after she died, if you know what I mean.”
“Mom always talks about missing her mother.”
He shrugs, standing. “She does. She misses what she never had.”
I know this story is supposed to make me magically forgive my mom’s actions regarding my own wedding, but it doesn’t. Do I feel compassion? Yes. Heartbroken on her behalf? Sure.
“Vegas,” he adds slowly, “reminds me of Celeste. This whole damned city. Nothing but fake luxury designed to impress people who end up footing a bill they can’t afford. Except Celeste took it one step further.” He shudders. “Maybe that’s why I can’t stand this place.”
“But Mom invited Jessica Coffin to my wedding!” I wail. Shallow. I know. I do have a touch of my grandma in me, after all.
“I understand, honey. She crossed a big line inviting Jessica Coffin. I had no idea she’d done that, or I would have intervened.” He shakes his head. “You know what’s ‘funny’?” Dad uses finger quotes for the word again.
“What?”
“Jessica Coffin. She looks a lot like the old pictures of your grandma. And you can’t beat her for a perfect personality match for Celeste.”
And with that mic drop, Dad kisses my cheek gently and walks away into the crowd, carefully avoiding the painted ladies reaching out for a kiss.
Especially the Minions.
Chapter Fifteen
By the time I get back to the room, shower, and change, it’s after six, and Declan walks in the door early, looking tired and harried.
“God, I’m starving,” he complains, loosening his tie and looking at the clock next to the bed. “Damn.” His stomach growls. “At least we’re eating fairly soon.”
I smile, and he does a double take, feet pointed toward the couch, doing some kind of cha-cha to turn back around and stare at me, full-faced.
“You look amazing.”
His eyes take me in, head to toe. He lets out a wolf whistle. “I knew a day at the spa would be worth it. Whatever you tipped them isn’t enough.”
“They serve breast milk lattes in the spa. And offer something called a vajacial.” I shudder.
He doesn’t even blink. “If that’s what it takes to make you look so stunning, I’m fine with it.”
I giggle self-consciously. His eyes catch the yellow paint on my dress. His hands circle my waist and pull me to him. “Is the yellow a new fashion feature?” He kisses me on both cheeks, so gentle and soft that his lips feel like rose petals.
Which makes me think of vajacials.
And I go cold.
Dec runs one finger along the yellow stripe on my dress and frowns when he sees it’s paint. Questioning eyes meet mine.
“Minion. I was assaulted by a topless Minion outside.”
He laughs, lets me go, and walks to the clothing dresser and grabs a box of cashews off the dry minibar.
I’ve learned something new on this trip. There are wet/cold minibars, and dry minibars. The dry minibars are innocuous-looking set-ups on the bureaus. They look like an array of treats, from chocolate-covered gummy bears to cashews and macadamia nuts to earbuds. Even iPhone chargers.
And for eighty bucks, you, too, can have your own convenient pair of headphones you can get at any Wal-Mart for $4.61.
Declan pops back a handful of cashews that costs more than a latte and looks at me with beleaguered eyes. “Aren’t you hungry? Have some.”
“I’m fine. I ate with Dad earlier.”
“Jason? Nice. Where’d you go?”
“Across the street.”
“You went outside? On the Strip? Did you actually walk?”
“Yes. I have feet, you know. Sorry to crush the myth that I’m a mermaid.” I wiggle one foot for emphasis.
“What did you eat?”
“Hot dogs.”
“Why on earth would you go across the street for a hot dog when you could order in room service or go to one of the restaurants and have filet and lobster? Or caviar? Or—”